


Between Them

by Path



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Size Kink, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wait,” Cala replies. “There’s something I wish to do.” He bends down to kiss Maia, and his lips are soft and wet. If the maza showed any restraint earlier in the evening, it is long gone, and his kiss is open- wanton and wanting. “Maia, canst thou take more?” asks Cala breathlessly. </p><p>Maia makes a helpless gesture to Beshelar, confused. “What more can there <i>be</i>?” he asks in turn.</p><p>“If thou wouldst allow me…” Cala murmurs, and it has a note of begging about it, “if thou wouldst allow me <i>too</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Different Sort of Friends](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515541) by [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover). 



> I loved shadow_lover's piece so much that when a prompt came up on the kink meme for Maia/Cala/Beshelar I thought I would write a sort of fanfic of that fanfic. So like. Make sure you read that one.

Kiru and Telimezh guard him tonight, Kiru within and Telimezh without, and though Maia feels very safe with them, something inside his chest has shuddered with heat all day- whenever he gave thought to his other nohecharei, and the night they had spent so recently. With some difficulty, he scrambles together the courage to murmur so to Cala when he and Beshelar bid him good eve. 

“We wish thou wouldst stay, if it were possible,” he manages, with a faint look of longing in Beshelar’s direction to include him. Both of them start; Beshelar takes a sharp breath and, beneath the plated mail, Maia can see his chest heave involuntarily. Cala pauses to collect himself before bowing in his usual way and elbowing Beshelar into the same. “Good night, Serenity,” he says, but his eyes are knowing as he rises, and he crosses to speak with Kiru before he leaves. Maia is not sure what to hope. He has waited as long as he can force himself to, trying to fully recall and relive every touch, every instruction. It is not hard; every burning moment feels etched into his memory.

He climbs into bed, willing back down the desire that pulls his shaft half-hard. “Good night, Kiru,” he says, once they are the only two in the room, and Kiru replies, “Good night, Serenity. Shall we will wake you if Your Serenity has any late guests?” which must be her diplomatic assent to whatever Cala told her. 

“Please do,” Maia manages, a flush of heat touching his face. He curls into his sheets, trying not to get his hopes up.

It cannot be long after that he is pulled out of sleep by Cala’s cautious hand on his shoulder and his voice softly repeating, “Serenity?” 

Beshelar is behind him, looking furtive and edgy. “We should not wake him,” he mutters to Cala, even as Maia stirs. “Allow him to sleep. This is improper and ill-advised anyhow.”

Cala cranes his head back, birdlike in his silver spectacles. “It is his wish I obey, _Lieutenant_ ,” he says softly, a teasing edge to his voice. Maia pulls himself awake and props himself up on one elbow, both of his nohecharei coming to a sort of attention before him. 

“No, don’t go, please.” He feels too self-conscious, laying abed while they wait on his word, so folds the sheets back and perches on the edge. The words are difficult to choose, and come out awkwardly. “We enjoyed the other night very much- so much. We only wish- I only wish,” he amends, “that we had had more time. And that you would not have to share duty while you… whilst thou enjoyed thyselves.”

His nohecharei share a look- Beshelar straightens, and Cala’s eyes are shrewd through his thick glasses. The maza’s gaze darts across the room to where Kiru sits, silhouetted in the wide windowsill. Beshelar follows his glance; Maia nearly does before Kiru’s voice comes, soft and wry, “Well, you’ve no need to wait on our say-so,” and Maia chokes on his laughter.

Cala does not wait further, but pushes his glasses up his nose and takes Maia’s hands, guiding him to the floor. Cala pulls towards him as if drawn, and then it is as if his hands cannot stay still. They run up his arms, linger on his shoulders, and then gather at the base of Maia’s neck to pull the two of them together. Cala has to dip his head to kiss him, and when he does it is clear how he has hungered for Maia, how watching and guiding was nowhere near enough. Maia’s lingering smile begins to transform with Cala’s lips on his, with his fingers combing through Maia’s hair and his gangly body pressed close.

Then Maia is suddenly aware of Beshelar closing behind him, a solid presence reaching for Maia’s waist and pulling in to him. He always feels small, with his nohecharei flanking him, but now it is more apparent than ever, Cala’s height, Beshelar’s wide shoulders, his controlled stance. It is deliriously exciting, having them so close, having them pressed to him. Cala is kissing down his shoulder and Beshelar takes the other one, patient where Cala cannot wait. “Serenity,” Cala breathes between kisses. He is stooping, then takes to his knees to continue kissing down Maia’s stomach. The thin fabric of his nightshirt does not muffle the sensation. Maia’s hips twitch involuntarily to see him kneeling there, at the sudden thought of the heat of Cala’s mouth, of his thin lips surrounding Maia’s cock. Beshelar is not helping, his mouth working at Maia’s ear and throat, his hands sweeping Maia’s sides. They linger on his hips, calloused fingers caressing his hip bones and the soft skin there. Maia cannot suppress his ragged gasps.

Then Cala is pulling Maia’s nightshirt aside in a nod of unspoken agreement with Beshelar, who helps Maia out of the sleeves without prompting. Cala very nearly does not wait for Maia to be free of clothing- as soon as the soft shirt is pulled back, pale fingers splay over slate-grey skin. Maia shivers at his touch and feels as if he might fall, were Beshelar not so solid at his back. He can feel the soldier’s length hard and warm in the low of his back, and though Beshelar is too controlled to begin rocking against Maia, he groans low in appreciation every time Maia writhes against him. 

It is as if Cala needs to worship his entire body, he pays such attention to all of it, kissing down Maia’s thighs, taking his hands one by one to lavish them with his mouth’s attention. His tongue catches in the crooks of Maia’s fingers and plays up his wrists. Every touch is a new and exquisite thrill, and he is hard long before Cala finally strokes his dextrous fingers down past Maia’s stomach to drag along his length. Maia feels a wave of dizzy pleasure, and has to brace himself against Beshelar, angling his hands behind him to clasp the soldier’s shoulders.

Then Cala’s tongue is on him, hot and wet and so good, sweeping up Maia’s shaft and over the tip. He thinks he says something in the rush of sensation that blazes through his body, but he can’t be sure it isn’t entirely incoherent. Beshelar growls in his ear and lets his hands roam, grazing Maia’s nipples with thick fingers, then down to where Cala is beginning to take Maia’s length into his mouth. Beshelar’s fingers splay around the shaft, through the short, damp curls. Maia feels him adjust himself, his thick stand pressed into Maia’s side, now. The soldier’s other hand trails around to Maia’s back, stroking over his thighs and buttocks. Maia writhes, and when his hips twitch now his length darts deeper into Cala’s mouth, surrounding him with wet heat and pressure. He feels overwhelmed, sensation hemming him in on all sides, eroding him.

Cala’s fingers circle Maia’s shaft, slick on the wetness his tongue leaves, and the first stroke feels as though it will make him finish on the spot. Cala, a little breathless, takes his mouth from Maia’s cock and smiles beatifically up at them. “Thou’rt right, Lieutenant,” he says, “his heat is incredible.” Beshelar’s hands pull at Maia’s hips; belatedly Maia realizes that Cala is baiting his partner.

“Hast not felt him from the inside,” Beshelar mutters, voice muffled in Maia’s shoulder. Even as they work in concord over his body, there is a hint of competition between them. Maia has the sensation once more of being dwarfed by the two. He is not and will never be a tool for them, but even the briefest flash of being used as such burns a flash of wanting through Maia’s chest. His fingers clench in Beshelar’s shirt- thankfully, he has divested himself of his armor- and Maia is struck with the desire to touch him again, to feel Beshelar’s muscles across his arms and chest and the heat in his skin.

“Wilt not disrobe?” he murmurs, inclining his head up to the soldier supporting him. 

Cala frees his mouth; Maia cannot contain a soft moan as the suction breaks. “Yes, let’s move to the bed and be done of all this,” Cala nods, with a careless gesture Maia takes to mean clothing, shoes, the effort of staying standing at all. The maza works the thick tie at his waist and hauls his robe over his head, then strips out of his trousers and undergarments in as quick a motion he can. Maia watches him, torn between the flush of lust and a sort of endeared amusement; Cala is so tall and the bones in his shoulder protrude so, it is a little like watching a crane strip out of its feathers. He taps a finger on his spectacles as if weighing their merits and flaws, and finally folds them with much more caution than he showed his garments, placing them on the pedestal that serves as a nightstand.

When Maia looks back to Beshelar, he is already shirtless, working at his thick sword belt and divesting himself of his boots. The soldier clearly wants to be arraying his discarded clothing into some manner of order, but he settles for nudging his boots into line before he turns back to his emperor- no, Maia thinks, his lover, tonight. Neither of the pair are on duty tonight; surely for a scant time they can forget who serves who.

And indeed, once Beshelar is nude, Cala comes to him before returning to Maia, lowering his head to catch Beshelar in a kiss. Maia watches their mouths caress softly, then with more urgency, watches Cala’s hands settle in the curve of Beshelar’s arms and the soldier’s drift up to the maza’s gaunt back. “I can taste him on you,” Beshelar mutters between kisses, and Cala’s hips jut forward in response. One of his hands drift between them; Maia leans into the high edge of his bed as Cala’s gentle hands play over both cocks.

It is only a short moment between them, before they turn as one to flank Maia once more, but he can see the flushed hunger that nearly overtook them lying bare in their eyes. “Help His Serenity up, will you?” asks Cala, who climbs easily into the tall bed to receive him. Beshelar gives Maia a hand, and Cala pulls him closer to the center. _This is the amount of people this bed was made for_ , Maia thinks.

“Lie back, Serenity,” Cala instructs him, and positions himself between Maia’s legs. “Deret, the oil?” Beshelar rummages in Cala’s discarded robe for a jar, handing it over. Then finally he joins them on the bed and kneels close, eyes raking Maia’s body and fingers closing around his own cock. It looks massive to Maia, thick and imposing; he is not sure he could close fingers around the thing. He only has a moment to consider it, though, before Cala bends over him, a hand slick with gleaming oil. Scents drift through the air from it- myrrh and honey and some unidentifiable spice, heady enough to feel like a caress themselves. Maia’s voice escapes in a high sound, not quite a whimper, as Cala’s long fingers trail down sensitive skin and circle idly around his hole. Cala’s expression is quite unholy, drinking in every reaction as if he’ll devour Maia entirely. He bends his head and catches Maia’s cock again, slowly plunging his mouth over it as his fingers keep stroking behind, ever insistent.

Then his finger begins probing, one tip slowly drilling its way into him. Cala leaves it there, one joint buried inside his emperor, applying himself to Maia’s length as if were nothing else in the world he wished for. Maia clenches at Cala’s finger and tries to force himself to relax. The feeling of something inside him is not so familiar yet that he can adapt to it without effort. Perhaps Beshelar realizes it, for he dips his head to Maia’s, a gentle hand on Maia’s chin. “Serenity?” he asks, and Maia nods; their mouths rush together without thought for anything else. Beshelar’s is so insistent, so hungry, his teeth brushing Maia’s lower lip, pushing in to caress Maia’s tongue with his own. He is aware, through Beshelar’s exquisite kisses, of Cala’s finger questing deeper within him. Perhaps he would otherwise begin to soften, but he has no opportunity, besieged as he is with sensation on all sides.

It balances well, if infuriatingly, for no sooner does Maia think he is in danger of finishing than he feels a second finger insistently joining the first, and the stretch he cannot ignore lends him time. Cala’s mouth is so clever on him that without the unforgettable almost-pain of his penetration, Maia would have finished long ago. A third finger, after a long time, and Cala begins to curve his fingers within Maia as Beshelar did on that first night- and just as had happened then, Maia feels the spike of lust stab through him uncontrollably. He writhes with each stroke, delivering panicked whimpers into Beshelar’s mouth. As they grow more urgent, Beshelar breaks the kiss. “Do not finish him so soon, maza. You’ll leave us no time to enjoy ourselves as His Serenity suggested.” Though his voice is disapproving, Beshelar’s breathlessness makes him somewhat less severe than usual.

Perhaps reluctantly, Cala slides his fingers free, but immediately takes another swipe of the slick oil and begins to stroke himself, covering his shaft in glistening wetness. “Well enough, but I’ll be first this time,” Cala comments to Beshelar, as if Maia were not there. He is familiar with being overlooked so, but it has never been arousing before now. “Thou hadst the run of him last.”

“Aye, merely hurry,” Beshelar returns. “We want another chance at it tonight.”

Then Cala, with whatever agreement the two work out mostly unsaid, guides his tip against Maia’s hole, pressing in slowly. Maia throws his head back, trying and failing to stop his voice escaping. Beshelar watches in open desire, hand absently stroking his swollen cock, eyes sweeping over his partners. Cala is slow and not so much thicker than his three fingers together- nothing like Maia’s memory of the overwhelming presence of Beshelar’s shaft, but still takes some getting used to. Cala edges in, waits, presses further, waits. His body curves over Maia’s, and Cala whispers to him in the moments between. “Serenity, dear gods. Thou dost well-” Cala has to pause, clearly savoring some sensation, “-so well. Thou knowst I have wanted thee like this…” He pushes in again, and his hips finally press into Maia’s. The both of them pause, Maia to calm himself and wait to adapt, and Cala clearly to revel in it. 

Cala’s length buried in him, Maia reaches next for Beshelar. “Please, if thou wilt,” he begs him, and Beshelar complies without further requests. Maia can’t wait, has no mind for easing into it, but pulls Beshelar in, taking as much of his cock into his mouth as he can. He has no idea how Beshelar managed to fit this _in him_ before, when the tip hits the back of his throat and he feels he has hardly broached it. Cala hums appreciatively, up to the hilt in Maia and unmoving. Maia backs off a little, focuses on Beshelar’s tip, and gets one shaky hand up to the shaft below his lips. Beshelar lets out another deep groan, and Maia can feel the guard’s cock pulse with the desire running through him.

After a time, Maia disengages long enough to clasp the side of Cala’s face with trembling fingers. He nods shakily, and Cala nods in response, bright-eyed and eager. He moves slowly, but moves, and it is not agonizing as Maia had remembered and briefly feared. Overwhelming, but good, to his surprise. He returns himself to Beshelar’s waiting cock, plunging his mouth over it once more. He moans into it as Cala begins to fuck him in earnest, and Beshelar has to put a hand down into the bed to steady himself. Time fades as Maia takes both cocks, and the sensation of being filled so, being used so, is good in a deep and terrifying way to him. He misses whatever unspoken agreement his nohecharei come to, caught up in the repetitive rock of Cala’s length driving into him.

Whatever passes between them, Cala slides out. Maia doesn’t have time to feel empty, though, before Beshelar is trading places with his counterpart and positioning himself at Maia’s entrance. The tip, wide and thick and twice Cala’s size, it feels, wedges against his hole. Maia tips his head back and takes deep, steadying breaths; he can hear the squeaking high sound trapped in his throat and he wants not to let it out. Beshelar moves so slowly Maia would not be able to feel it, were he not so big, and his control is absolute. It is obvious from his eyes, from the slack of his jaw, that the soldier wishes nothing more than to sink into his liege and fuck him from now until Winternight, but his hands are solid on Maia’s slim hips and his breathing, steady. 

“Wilt thou not make thyself useful, Athmaza?” Beshelar says, and the two share a brief and amused look over Maia. There is a deep sound from Cala, a hum nearly down to his chest, as the maza begins to rake his hands over Maia’s body. His fingers are so clever, and Maia already so starved for touch, he is inclining into it and leaning into the tracing fingernails, etching his body.

Beshelar edges his way in, each motion agonizing in slowness and stretch. _He should just bury it in thee and rip thee open_ , Maia thinks, _and ruin thee quick instead of slow._ The voice cannot manifest, though, for he could not speak to give command now even if it were a good idea, and not a ruinously painful one. He prays for patience, for Beshelar cannot be even halfway to the hilt and Maia is not sure how much more he can take. But Cala’s fingers are working at his nipples, up to caress the wing of his ears and drag across his scalp, and Maia, wracked with shivers, moans at his touch despite Beshelar’s girth.

It becomes bearable so slowly as to be unnoticeable, for his nohecharei have no scruples about time. There is almost no difference, for a long while, between Beshelar’s movement and his stillness; he breaks concentration a few times to stroke their joining point with more oil. Maia feels the place on fire, but Beshelar’s fingers, very gentle and very slick, draw points of lust through him that make his cock jerk. Finally, when Beshelar’s hips nestle against his own and the entirety of his guard’s incredible length is inside him, Maia can feel he has stretched enough. Pain begins to recede as Beshelar very slowly begins to move; red-hot pleasure washes over Maia like Cala’s roaming hands. 

Beshelar does not speed up quickly, but Maia loses himself in the thrusts, feeling wave after wave buzz through his body, echoing outward from Beshelar’s impact. It is easy to forget everything, down to his name obliterated, as his nohecharei strip everything but pleasure from him. He is crying out, he is keening, each long moan with a hitch inside from Beshelar’s hips slapping into his. Maia does not recognize his own voice. 

“He’ll finish in a moment,” Beshelar says, his voice distorted and unfamiliar, “and I’ll be not long after.”

“Wait,” Cala replies. “There’s something I wish to do.” He bends down to kiss Maia, and his lips are soft and wet. If the maza showed any restraint earlier in the evening, it is long gone, and his kiss is open- wanton and wanting. “Maia, canst thou take more?” asks Cala breathlessly. 

Maia makes a helpless gesture to Beshelar, confused. “What more can there _be_?” he asks in turn.

“If thou wouldst allow me…” Cala murmurs, and it has a note of begging about it, “if thou wouldst allow me _too_.”

Maia catches his breath, taken aback, and nods before he considers it too much. He has taken Beshelar… surely Cala’s additional girth will not break him. Beshelar looks doubtful, but applies himself to logistics. “Serenity, you will need to be held up. We will keep you between us.” With Maia’s wordless nod, he slowly withdraws himself, slides his hands beneath Maia’s shoulders and pulls him up to his knees. Maia reels from the absence, the emptiness, feeling his hole contracting with nothing to clench around, and his first few seconds upright make his head spin. But then Cala is sliding beneath him, wrapping his legs around Beshelar’s hips to pin their cocks together. Cala groans, and does his best to get his long fingers around both shafts, stroking and teasing until his is as rod-straight and straining as Beshelar’s, if nowhere near as large. 

Beshelar handles Maia’s feather-weight easily, and lowers him down. His voice, though it still holds the strain of desire, is concerned in Maia’s ear- “You must tell us if it is too much, Serenity. Do not allow us to hurry you.” Cala is nodding agreement, but in a rushed way that tells how much he desires this. Maia would try it for him alone, for Beshelar alone, but both of them and Maia’s own hunger combined make him think that nothing would be too much. He gasps, still, when Beshelar’s head enters him again, but he is already prepared, and Beshelar is not too much for him now. Beshelar sinks in uncontested, and does not thrust so much as rock into Maia, a slow and inevitable motion that Maia knows will overtake him soon. Then Cala’s fingers find him again, caressing Maia’s member, stroking it to hardness again- and how many times tonight will he feel a touch away from finishing? Those gentle fingers touch everywhere, stroking the crease of his thighs against his pelvis, playing along his length, cupping his sac below and working back from there. Slick fingers stroke where Beshelar has him impaled, and now both of them are gasping with Cala’s ministrations added to their joining. Cala inches one through, pressed to Beshelar’s shaft, and even one finger more seems like too much for Maia. _I cannot_ , he thinks wildly, Cala’s finger patiently creeping up inside him. _They will break me open after all._ But slowly, slowly, Cala’s insistent hand on his cock and Beshelar’s gentle rocking open him up, and finally it is good again, and Maia is moving himself without thinking.

It is agony again with a second finger, and the process is slow, with only short periods of goodness between what seems like ages of pain. Halfway through Cala’s third finger, Maia realizes belatedly that he is whining into his maza’s shoulder, high cries of mixed pain and frustrated desire. Cala is speaking to him too, also unheard for long minutes. “Serenity- Maia, thou dost well. Thou’rt nearly there- stay with us a few minutes more.” Beshelar’s hands are gentle on him, one cupped around his hips and the other holding around his chest. Beshelar is so big and so steadfast that it steadies him enough to muffle his high sounds, burying his face into Cala’s shoulder and waiting out the pain. When at last he moves easily, Cala slips his fingers out; Maia can feel Cala adjusting himself below him. He breathes deeply. _Thou’rt as ready as will ever be._

Beshelar presses into Maia’s back, wrapping an arm under one of Maia’s arms and across his chest to support him. With his soldier’s aid, he sinks down until he meets Cala’s head also. For a second, Maia thinks he can do it, for Cala’s tip is not so wide, but then he feels the stretch again and freezes, unable to go through with it. Beshelar grunts as Maia clenches around him, but stops moving instantly. “Nay, wait, he’ll need to want it again first,” he says, voice low. He does not stop supporting Maia for a moment, but his other hand smooths over Maia’s side and back. Gently he pushes Maia’s sweat-wet hair aside, and Maia shivers from the cool air on his neck and the kisses Beshelar presses there. He can hear the low sound so deep in Beshelar’s throat as to descend to his chest; the man is starving for him, but is so patient… Maia feels a rush of longing, of love, rush through his stomach.

Cala takes a moment to clean his oil-slick fingers, but then his hands are on Maia too, not quite impatient. They bury themselves into the hair at his neck, rake down over his chest and thighs. Maia finds himself trembling, his cock rising again and aching for Cala’s hands around it. It jerks with every twist of Cala’s fingers, every hint of his nails, and he is nearly to the edge again- _again_ …- before Cala strokes it, fingers closing around the shaft. His thumb wedges against Maia’s tip, wet with early seed and oil, and circles there slickly. Maia moans into it, feeling Beshelar swell inside him for a second with his guard’s reaction. 

Cala’s mouth is hot and wet on Maia’s throat and shoulders, and he murmurs into them, lips dragging against the skin. “Tell us, tell us when thou’rt ready,” he breathes, and Maia does not need to wait long. He needs to finish, he needs it so utterly and completely that there is near nothing else left of him, but he will not be so discourteous as to finish first of them. They are as hungry as he for this, and they will take care of him once they are finally spent. If he lets Cala keep going as he is, the man will drag him to orgasm before he can protest. 

He nods quickly. “I am ready,” he says, though his voice shakes terribly. “Please, I- I want it too…”

So Cala lines himself up again, and Maia takes the tip of it without screaming like he thought he might. But there is more, there is so much more, and Maia clings to Cala, fingers white and nails digging into the maza’s shoulders. But he closes his eyes and sucks in breaths of the Alcethmeret’s cold air, thick with the scents of sweat and myrrh, and he waits. Cala edges in, bit by excrutiating bit, and once he is stable, takes Maia’s cock in hand once more. Behind, Beshelar lets out a ragged sound, his control finally beginning to slip from his grasp. Cala pulls him forward to kiss the soldier deeply over Maia’s shoulder. Maia is pinned between them, Beshelar’s moans echoing in his ear. They stay there a long while, Cala with one hand on Maia’s shaft, moving in concert with his mouth on Beshelar’s. Maia waits between them, pain gradually, slowly subsiding. Cala’s hand and the sounds of his nohecharei together pull him along until he begins to move, rocking his hips into Cala’s strokes. He does not have much motion- he is _so full_ \- but he cannot stop himself. The moment he moves, his nohecharei moan into each others’ mouths; it is the most deliriously good thing Maia has ever felt. He surrenders himself to it, head thrown back and hips rocking in that faint motion, listening to the shuddering sound from Beshelar and Cala’s soft whimper.

Cala begins to move next, small thrusts as Maia inclines towards him. Maia can feel him, sliding along Beshelar’s thick shaft, and Beshelar obviously can as well, for his cock spasms and his hand tightens on Maia’s hip. For a moment Maia thinks it is the end of him, but the soldier’s control has not quite slipped yet, though his ragged breathing makes it obvious he will not last long. Cala, too, is shivering, his breaths laced with moans and coming faster and faster now. Maia is trembling with the effort of moving and staying upright, with the effort of doing anything at all with so much inside him. 

Cala is the first to come, lowering his head to Maia’s shoulder now and sinking into him as far as he can. He shudders as if in pain, his entire body trembling, and then he is panting into Maia’s shoulder, short sharp breaths that betray his ecstasy. Beshelar gasps too, the sensation of Cala’s spasming cock or the hot seed that pours from it hitting him closer than it does Maia. 

Maia makes a conscious effort to loosen his grip on Cala, wrapping his arms around the maza’s thin shoulders instead and pulling him close. The man shivers in his embrace, still wracked with pleasure for long moments. Finally, he seems to shrink somehow, and surrenders into Maia’s arms; he nestles there a moment, face buried against Maia’s neck, before he is collected enough to make the effort to extract himself.

Maia cannot imagine how he thought Beshelar was all he could take, now, for he feels strangely, impossibly empty without Cala inside him as well. But Beshelar is lowering him to the blankets, and Maia summons the effort to stay on his hands and knees rather than entirely prone. His arms cannot support him, though, so he settles for propping himself on his elbows, burying his face in the sheets. Beshelar does not wait, but as soon as Maia is positioned, begins thrusting again in earnest.

Cala, lying beside them, stirs himself at Maia’s gasp, one thin hand wrapping around Maia’s straining cock. His strokes now are not urgent- Maia does not think Cala could manage that- but deliberate and paced. He should be counting them, he thinks, and though he doesn’t, he is sure Cala only delivers a scant dozen before Maia is coming, pulled at last through the pain. It is almost agonizing itself, for he has waited and been delayed so long, and it is certainly violent, a thick spurt from his iron-hard cock that sends spasms through all his extremities.

Beshelar cries out behind him and redoubles his effort, slamming into Maia from behind. Maia has collapsed, unable to hold himself up any further, but Beshelar does not stop, ramming his massive cock in until he too, stiffens. He buries himself into Maia to the hilt, thick hands betraying his tremor, and delivers a few short, gentle thrusts as he spends himself. Maia is only aware of the heat as Beshelar finally finds the strength to withdraw. Then the soldier collapses beside him as well, one of his nohecharei on each side, flanking him as always.

They lie there a long while, twisted together in cooling, damp sheets; the room is silent but for their laboured, recovering breathing. Maia feels utterly used, as if every part of his body had been dragged to finish, but the flush of intense, incredible goodness through him is unparalleled. He has shifted so he no longer lies face-down in the blankets, and his nohecharei- his _lovers_ , he reminds himself, cinch in to each side of him. Beshelar is a wall behind him, and Maia nestles into him gratefully. Cala curls to the other side, Maia holding him close. Cala’s hair is always a mess, but now in such disarray as to be disastrous, and Maia buries his face into Cala’s back and the mess of pale hair.

“When we’ve the strength,” he hears from Cala, voice muffled, “we’ll run a bath. We’re sure we’ll all need it.” Beshelar merely grunts agreement, not yet recovered enough for speech, and Maia has to take a deep breath before managing a, “Please, yes.”

It takes a long time before they can move, and longer to get themselves and the bed in any fit state of cleanliness. Maia is nearly unconscious before the end, he is so exhausted. It is clear Cala and Beshelar, too, will be drained on their shifts the next day, but in the end, Maia lies back in bed, passing out almost immediately. He knows that his two guards give him some sweetly formal goodbye, but there is simply not enough of him left to acknowledge it. _Thou must thank them in the morning_ , Maia thinks as they make their way out. For now, though, he is certain enough they know how well they are loved.


End file.
